


Strange New Friend

by Aconissa



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Exchangelock AU Exchange 2014, Fawnlock, Fic Exchange, First Meetings, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kidlock, Language Barrier, M/M, exchangelock, fawn!mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 13:14:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1942503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aconissa/pseuds/Aconissa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My <a href="http://exchangelock.tumblr.com/">exchangelock</a> gift for <a href="http://loracaique.tumblr.com/">loracaique.</a><br/>12 year old Greg gets lost on a scouts hike. He stumbles upon a strange deer-like boy stuck in a trap, and ends up making a new friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange New Friend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Loracaique](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Loracaique).



> Sorry about the completely unoriginal title! I hope you enjoy this all the same. [Loracaique](http://loracaique.tumblr.com/) asked for kidlock, fawnlock, mystrade and hurt/comfort, I delivered. 
> 
> [Find me on tumblr!](http://aconissa.tumblr.com/)

Greg stumbled over a tree root, arms and legs flailing alarmingly before he righted himself. He stopped walking, waiting for his heart rate to go down.

He had lost track of the rest of his group at least an hour ago. He didn’t understand how it had happened – one moment, he was walking at the back of a line of scouts, his friend Dimmock just in front of him, and then they were nowhere to be seen. He’d only taken his eyes off them for a few seconds, trying to locate a bird he could hear trilling in the trees. But once he had looked in front of him again, they were gone.

He soon found that following the direction they were going in before did not work very well. The path forked off, and despite his years in the scouts he had found it impossible to make out their footprints. He had tried to remember what little he had seen of their trail map at the beginning of the walk, and ended up going left – a choice he now sincerely regretted. Eventually the path stopped altogether, and rather than doing the logical thing and going back to the fork, he had continued into the unmarked forest.

And now – well, now he was well and truly lost. He didn’t like to think of the word, not when it caused his breathing to speed up and his gut to clench in panic, but he knew it was the perfect description for his current situation.

With a sniff, his eyes feeling warm as they moistened, he sat down on an exposed tree root. He dropped his backpack next to him and wrapped his arms around his knees.

Greg had never felt more miserable or angry with himself in his entire life. He had promised him mum he would be careful when she fussed over him. His dad had even defended him, reminding her that he was twelve now, he could handle a weeklong camping trip. After this, they’d never let him go again.

He sat there for several minutes, sniffling slightly. He just needed to calm down, have a little cry – that _no one_ would ever hear about – then he could be on his way again.

When his hitching breaths returned to normal, Greg began to hear quiet sounds near him. They were much like the ones he had been making – he could hear what he thought were soft sobs, and occasionally a frustrated grunt. _Maybe it’s someone else from the group!_ He thought. Being lost wouldn’t be nearly as bad if he were lost with someone else.

“Hello?” He called, clambering up. There was no reply, though the sounds faltered for several seconds. “It’s Greg Lestrade,” he added, picking up his bag and walking towards the source of the noises. He scrambled through some thick bushes, the sobs stopping entirely. Walking around a thick oak tree, he finally saw who, or rather _what_ , had been making the sounds.

There was _something_ sitting on the ground sullenly, a foot – no, a _hoof_ – stuck in what looked like a miniature version of the bear traps he saw in cartoons on the telly. He thought it might have been for a fox, which he had learned in scouts it was illegal to trap in this way. But the creature in the trap was definitely _not_ a fox. The metal teeth of the device were digging into the fur right above its hoof, and he could see dry and fresh blood around it.

Upon seeing him, the creature started to struggle, clearly nervous. But Greg saw a look of pain cross its surprisingly human-like face, quickly making it go still again. It watched him warily, unmoving.

He stared for several seconds, trying to work out what to do. The creature continued to watch him silently, its blue-grey eyes belying an intelligence and clarity that he had not expected. Its body was mostly humanoid, but from the waist down it was covered in downy, reddish-brown fur, which matched the slight curls on its head. _He_ , Greg thought, _I think he’s a boy._ He blushed when he registered the total lack of clothing on any part of the creature’s body. He looked about Greg’s age, maybe even a bit younger. His hands were normal – eight fingers and two thumbs – but his legs were sort of bent, like a goat’s. His face was mostly human, except for the pointed brown ears on the top of his head. He supposed the creature looked a bit like a satyr in one of those ancient Greek myths, except rather than horns, he had little antlers, like a deer.

Greg walked forward slowly, crouching down a few feet from the strange boy. “My name is Greg,” he said, smiling in the hope it would put the deer-boy at ease. He frowned in response, apparently not understanding him. Greg put his hand against his chest, before repeating his name slowly.

The boy’s ears twitched, and his eyes lit up. He placed his own hand under his collarbone, making a noise that Greg supposed must be his name, but found very hard to understand.

“Mycroft?” Greg said, trying to imitate the word the deer-boy had used. He got a huff in response, before ‘Mycroft’ nodded in resignation.

Greg smiled, glad that he had something to call his new acquaintance. Now that they were on first-name basis, he thought it was time to deal with the greater issue at hand. He motioned to Mycroft’s hurt foot, before pointing to himself. “I can help you.” The boy, as expected, did not understand him, so Greg used his own foot to mime opening the trap and freeing himself from it. Mycroft frowned, as though deliberating it, before giving a grunt that Greg assumed meant, “yes”, though if he’d been human it might have been closer to “if you _really_ must”.

Greg nodded, dropping his backpack to the ground before bending down over the deer-boy’s leg. He examined the trap, seeing that it was a simple leg-hold contraption. Even though he knew Mycroft wouldn’t understand his exact meaning, he hoped that the general gist would come across. Pointing to the trap and looking into the others boy’s eyes, he said: “I’m going to open it now.” The deer-boy seemed nervous, but was clearly trying to hide his fear beneath a calm and almost aristocratic expression. It would have been funny, had Greg not been worried about what he had to do next.

Being careful not to put any more pressure on the wounds that he had to, Greg grasped both parts of the trap. He flicked his gaze back to Mycroft’s face, which looked strained, before their eyes locked. The other boy inclined his head, and Greg took that as his cue. He began to pull the two metal clamps apart, wincing in sympathy when he saw more blood well up, and the deer-boy’s distressed whimpers that he failed to stifle. As soon as the trap was open wide enough, Mycroft pulled his hoofed foot out and pulled it in towards his body, allowing Greg to let the trap snap shut again.

They sat there for several moments, Mycroft letting out little hisses of pain whenever he moved and Greg puffing slightly. He had had to use all his strength to keep the trap open that long, and he rubbed his hands against his thighs to bring feeling back into them.

He looked at the deer-boy again, and saw him staring at his wounds in contempt. Greg laughed softly, which made Mycroft narrow his eyes in annoyance. Getting onto his knees, Greg crawled over to him, looking carefully at his foot. Without the metal teeth of the trap biting into the skin, he had begun to bleed again. Greg was slightly excited by the opportunity to test out his first aid skills, but when Mycroft whimpered in pain he chastised himself and immediately got to work.

He pulled his water bottle and first aid kit out of his backpack, unscrewing the cap on the bottle. He held it up for Mycroft to see, hoping he would understand what would happen next. Greg then carefully poured water onto wounds, trying to clean them. The deer-boy watched him, fascinated by Greg’s actions. His jaw clenched at the feeling of the cool water on his foot, but he remained still.

Greg set the bottle aside then reached into his first aid kit, taking out the roll of bandages he never thought he’d actually need. He carefully lifted Mycroft’s foot, mumbling a “sorry” when he hissed in pain. Quickly, just like he’d been taught, he wrapped the cloth around the boy’s foot, as tightly as he dared. He used a plastic clasp to keep the bandages on, surveying his work and sitting back when he decided it was fine.

Greg looked up at Mycroft’s face when he was done, grinning. “You’ve been very brave,” he said. The deer-boy looked at him seriously, before moving forward and butting his antlers against Greg’s forehead.

“Ow!” He clutched his head where Mycroft had hit it, more surprised than pained. Looking into the other’s eyes he saw confusion and hurt, which made him realise it had been meant as an affectionate gesture. “Sorry,” he said quickly, making sure to smile again. He reached a hand out and scratched behind Mycroft’s ear, causing the deer-boy to close his eyes and make a low, pleased sound.

Greg giggled at the cat-like response of his new friend. Mycroft looked at him with something surprisingly close to a scowl, before trying to imitate Greg’s grin from before. It looked closer to a grimace, since he was just baring his teeth rather than raising his lips at the corners, but the human boy appreciated it all the same.

Getting up very slowly, Mycroft managed to stand with Greg’s help. He put his weight on his uninjured leg, trying to take a step. He was able to walk with some difficulty, his limp pronounced, but he seemed satisfied.

Mycroft looked at Greg, before staring somewhere to the right of where they stood. He took the other boy’s hand, pointing it for him in the direction he had been looking.

“I don’t understand,” Greg said, staring into the forest. Mycroft said some words that he couldn’t make out, before giving him a look that clearly conveyed how tiresome he thought Greg was being. He finally just shoved the other boy in that direction, whacking him with his antlers for good measure.

“Are you saying I should go this way?” Greg asked in confusion. He looked back to where Mycroft stood. The deer-boy motioned for him to go imperiously, before his eyes softened. He reached out and patted Greg’s dark hair, mumbling a few words. Greg looked at him, perplexed, before understanding that this was his way of saying goodbye.

He worried for a moment about how Mycroft would be able to walk on his injured leg, but the boy’s insistence was hard to protest against. He nodded, giving his strange friend one more smile. “Bye, Mycroft.”

“Greg,” the deer-boy said simply, stepping back. Greg waved, before turning and beginning to walk away. When he looked back, Mycroft was no longer there.

He walked for about thirty minutes, before finally reaching their camp. The scout leader was equal parts relieved and furious. He lectured Greg for a while before sighing and telling him to set up his tent. He went to find Dimmock, who hugged him awkwardly.

“You were gone for ages, I was dead scared,” he said, smiling in relief. “We didn’t realise until we were almost at the campsite. What happened?”

Greg shrugged. “Nothing. I just got a bit lost.” Dimmock nodded, before starting to help him set up.

That night, while he lay awake, he heard a rustling nearby. Poking his head out, he saw a bandaged hoof disappear behind a tree. He laughed when he realised there was a huge mound of berries and flowers at the entrance to his tent. “Thanks, Mycroft,” he whispered into the darkness.


End file.
